Chapter 4

Captain's Log, Supplemental: We have now evacuated all of the colonists from Koshka IXand have given them temporary quarters aboard the Enterprise. I have scheduled a meeting of my senior staff at 1900 hours to discuss what to do from here.

Her duty shift over, Ruthie walked into her quarters. She went over to the replicator and made a cup of peppermint tea. Sitting down with it, she pulled out a book and began to read. Einstein sauntered over and jumped into her lap, purring loudly.

Twenty minutes later, the door chime sounded. "It's open," Ruthie called, looking up from her book. She smiled and shook her head. "I'm all right, honest," she said as Dr. Crusher walked into the room. "Feel free to sit down." She gestured towards an empty chair nearby.

"It's not about that," the doctor replied with a smile as she dropped into the chair. "What's that you're reading?"

"Lord of the Rings. I fear I'm rather spoiled," she said, grinning as she set the book aside. "I grew up near the Library of Congress. I'm afraid digital media just can't compare to the real thing."

"You and the captain both," Dr. Crusher replied, laughing. "Which brings me to what I wanted to ask you about. Captain Picard has called a senior staff meeting to discuss the situation with the colony, and Misha is likely to come up. You probably know more about autism than anyone else on the ship. The captain and I were wondering if you'd like to attend?"

"Definitely," Ruthie replied.

"This is likely to make your autism essentially public knowledge among the senior staff though, just so you understand," the doctor pointed out.

"Eh, after my little performance on the bridge this morning, anyone who was there probably realizes that something's up. I'd rather they hear the whole story from me than try to assemble bits and pieces of it." Ruthie shrugged her shoulders. "When is the meeting?"

"In about ten minutes," Dr. Crusher answered.

"Excellent," Ruthie replied, as she gently set the cat on the floor and got up. She brushed a few black cat hairs off the front of her shirt. "Let's get going." The two women headed for the observation lounge.

A group was beginning to gather in the observation lounge. Picard sat at one end of the table, with Riker and Counselor Troi sitting on one side and Worf and Data sitting on the other. Geordi walked in, carrying a PADD, and dropped into a chair beside Data. "What is that, Geordi?" Data asked.

"My findings on the disturbance from this morning."

"Already?" Picard asked. "That was very fast."

"It's not finished yet," Geordi replied. "That's just the draft; it still needs a lot of work."

"Are you naming this new phenomenon after yourself, Geordi?" Riker teased.

The chief engineer shrugged. "I've just been calling it the Saiti-Sooma phenomenon."

"A very…appropriate name." Everyone turned to face Worf. "Saiti sooma is Russian for 'to go out of one's mind."

Everyone in the room (except Data) burst out laughing. "Sounds like an excellent name to me," Picard remarked.

"I think that's the name I'll be suggesting to Starfleet in my report," Geordi laughed. At that moment Dr. Crusher and Ruthie walked into the room.

"I think that's everyone," Picard remarked as the newcomers found seats at the table. "We need to decide what our options are for the Koshka IX colonists."

"Is it possible for them to return to the planet once we're sure all of the aftershocks have passed?" Riker asked, guessing that that was the option the colonists themselves would prefer, if it were available.

"Probably not," Geordi replied. "According to our data, seismic activity on this planet runs in cycles, and we're just coming out of a stable phase. We can expect more quakes like this one on Koshka IX for about the next hundred years."

"What can we do?" Dr. Crusher asked, coming straight to the point.

"Well... there is an uninhabited class K planet, Ruibi VII in this system. The climate is very similar to that on Koshka IX, ideal for agriculture," Geordi said. Something in his tone, however, implied that this solution may not be as perfect as it first appeared.

"What's the catch, Geordi?" Riker asked.

"They'll need more supplies to establish a colony there than we have on hand or can replicate, and it's still months until planting season," the chief engineer answered. "It's perfect in the long run, but we need somewhere for them to go now."

"Why not just take them with us to Starbase 718? Another ship can meet them with supplies and bring them back to Ruibi VII closer to planting season," Ruthie suggested.

"That sounds reasonable," Riker agreed.

"Agreed," Picard replied. "Make it so." He turned towards Dr. Crusher. "How is your young patient, Doctor?"

"Misha's fine; he wasn't seriously hurt. His mother woke up a few hours ago. His father came down to sickbay looking for them; we've got them in quarters now."

"Is he autistic?" Picard asked.

"If you mean, 'does he have a pre-existing diagnosis,' no, he doesn't. But, based on comparative neurology, I think that he probably is."

"Didn't they find a cure for that a few years ago?" Geordi asked.

"Nine years ago," Data replied. "Researchers at Oxford University discovered a way to reverse the neurological effects of autism."

"They did," Dr. Crusher acknowledged. "But it's not as simple as that. There are some ethical considerations."

"Ethical considerations?" Worf asked. "Like what?"

"Lt. Green is probably better qualified to explain it than I am," the doctor replied, gesturing towards the young lieutenant seated across from her.

"Most people think of autism as a condition or a disease, something that needs to be 'fixed'," Ruthie began.

"It isn't?" Worf asked.

"It depends on who you ask," Ruthie shrugged. "I see it as a way of life—and the only life I've ever known."

"You're autistic?" Geordi asked.

"Yes," Ruthie answered. "Autism is more than just a neurological condition, it's hard-wired into the brain. It affects how we think, how we act, how we feel, how we react to different situations. Changing that is like changing personality. If you make us neurotypical, you make us completely different people. And the 'cure' is permanent. Even if you hate the results, it's impossible to go back." She sighed. "It's not a choice anyone can make for somebody else, not even with the best of intentions."

"One presumes, then, that you were given that choice?" Data asked.

"By default. By the time they found a cure, I was 17, and old enough that no one could force it on me. I doubt my parents would have, though, even if I'd been younger."

"Are you suggesting we should let Misha decide for himself?" Picard asked.

"Eventually, yes. But a four year old, neurotypical or not, isn't capable of making that decision."

"Is the cure's effectiveness dependent on age?" Geordi asked.

"According to current research, no," Ruthie replied. "We're seeing the same results whether it's administered at age 50 or at age 2."

"Are the child's parents aware of the existence of a cure?" Worf asked.

"Probably not," Dr. Crusher replied. "Koshka IX is rather out of the way, and both Misha's parents were born there."

"I'm rather inclined to agree with you, Ruthie," Riker said. "But I think we have an obligation to tell them about the cure."

"Agreed," Picard replied.

Ruthie sighed. "I was afraid of that. I don't like it, but…" She paused. "You're right." She rubbed her eyes. "May I speak with Misha's parents?" Ruthie asked. "I feel like they have a right to know exactly what they're deciding."

"Good idea, Lieutenant," Picard replied.

"If you don't mind my asking, Ruthie, how did you get Misha to come right up to you like that?" Riker asked, glancing in her direction.

"It's an autistic thing. It involves Theory of the Mind."

"Theory of the Mind?" Geordi asked, looking quizzically at Ruthie.

"It's a psychological concept," Troi explained. "It involves the ability to pick up on someone else's thoughts and emotions. Without telepathy – as far as Theory of the Mind goes, that's cheating."

"It was a very popular autistic theory in the late 20th and early 21rst centuries," Ruthie explained, "there are still psychologists arguing about it. The idea is that autistics don't have Theory of the Mind because we have a hard time understanding neurotypicals. Misha just disproved that. Autistics do have Theory of the Mind, it's just a different theory."

"Different theory?" Riker asked. "What do you mean?"

"Neurotypicals understand each other just fine. But contrary to what a lot of people think, they don't generally read autistics very well. Likewise, autistics usually have a very difficult time reading neurotypicals. But we understand each other fine." Ruthie shrugged. "I think most creatures probably have it, really." She paused. "When I was little, my brother and I used to love to go down to the pond on our grandparents' farm to feed the ducks. Some of them were white domestic ducks who lived on the farm all year round, and others were mallards who had stopped on the farm in search of open water during their migrations. But they all freely intermingled. Despite looking very different, they understood that they were all ducks. They dove the same way, waddled the same way, quacked the same way, and voilá. If it looks like a duck, and it walks like a duck, and it talks like a duck, then logically, it must be a duck."

"How did you use this 'Theory of the Mind' down on the planet, Lieutenant?" Data asked, looking quizzically at Ruthie.

"I used a stim I knew Misha was prone to. From what I'd been told, I could infer that he tends to rock when he's stressed out. Consequently, if he sees someone rocking, and obviously trying to block out noise, he's likely to assume that they're stressed and upset. He can empathize with this; he's going to want to help anyone in that situation. So when he saw me rocking, he came over to see if I was all right."

"So," Riker began, "by rocking and covering your ears…"

"…I was saying 'I understand, and I need your help,'" Ruthie finished. "It's sort of like a 'Universal Autistic'. Most of us stim, so it's something we can understand and interpret according to a given situation."

"Wait," Riker said. "Are you saying that normal people can't interpret people with autism's body language?"

"No, no," Ruthie replied. "They can. But it's not something you can learn in a day. It takes years of experience. And, even then, it doesn't come naturally, any more than reading neurotypicals comes naturally to autistics. My parents, for instance, or my brother could do it. But they've been living with me for 26 years. They didn't pick it up in an afternoon." Ruthie absently rubbed her wrist; it was aching again.

"I see," Riker replied. "Out of curiosity, do you know why Misha seemed so disoriented after transport?"

"Like I told him, transporters feel funny," Ruthie replied. The rest of the crew looked at her in confusion. "You can't feel it?" she asked, surprised. Head shakes all around the table. "Hmm. I'd always assumed that everyone could. Misha certainly did."

"I wonder why that is," Dr. Crusher mused.

"My guess would be that either it's an overstimulation issue, or the matter-energy conversion process triggers random neuron misfire," Ruthie replied. "That would probably explain why we feel it and you don't." Ruthie paused. "Looking at the energy beam may have had something to do with it too. Even with sunglasses, it's difficult to look at."

"How did you cope without the sunglasses, Ruthie?" Dr. Crusher asked.

"Closed my eyes," Ruthie answered with a shrug. "It actually works better than the sunglasses. But, for obvious reasons, I don't like to do that unless I know exactly where I'm going to end up."

"Very wise," Riker replied. "Do you know why Misha wasn't looking at anybody?"

Ruthie shrugged. "I would've been very surprised if he had. You may have noticed that I generally don't." She apparently had not picked up on the "why" part of the question.

"Why is that, Ruthie?" Dr. Crusher asked, since the lieutenant hadn't really answered Riker's question.

"It's stressful, difficult, and, for some people, physically painful. I'm capable of it," she said, catching the doctor's eye for a few seconds to prove her point, "but it requires my full attention—I can't do anything else while I'm doing it, to include carry on a conversation. And since my version of eye contact is an intense, rather catlike stare, most people find it somewhat creepy when I try. So I don't generally do it unless it's critically important that I catch someone's attention. At four years old, I doubt it's even occurred to Misha that he should try." Though the room wasn't particularly cold, Ruthie shuddered suddenly.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant?" Picard asked.

"I'm fine, Captain," Ruthie replied with a small smile. "That just happens occasionally. I'm sure it's related to the autism somehow, but I have no idea what causes it."

"I think that's everything," the captain remarked. "Meeting dismissed."

Ruthie went back to her quarters and collapsed on the bed, not even bothering to change out of her uniform. She fell into a sound sleep in minutes, Einstein purring on her back.